To a Fault
by MikoSasesko
Summary: "How sad it would be, should laughter disappear." He lived his life laughing. Laughing at irony, laughing at misfortune, laughing at the naïve. Because if he didn't laugh, he might cry. "I don't really care about yesterday and I don't know what might happen tomorrow. I just know that right now, I'm happy!" She was the kind of person he could spend the rest of his life laughing at.
1. That Girl, Mysterious

_**I love Undertaker.**_ This story was born out of my love for him and because I wanted to explore writing different aspects of his personality and mentality. The title of this story comes from the saying "Honest to a Fault". This story was born from the ideas that spun in my head when Undertaker made a comment about his Bizarre Dolls being more beautiful than when they were alive because of "their mouths that cannot clamor noisily or tell lies any longer". (Ps. I'm not writing a disclaimer because the FF site itself declares that each work on this site is a work of fiction.) This story may go up in rating mainly because of gore/violence. Enjoy!

* * *

The air was chilly; more-so now that it was nearing the dawn of a new day. The wet cobblestone streets of London were lightly frosted and as she watched a cloud of air appear from her mouth with each puff of breath, she reminded herself to step carefully. She didn't want to fall again (though her wet, throbbing knees and chin had already become numb).

As she walked, she began to hear sounds like murmuring within the buildings around her. It made her a bit curious and her eyes were drawn up to see embellished signs hanging from doorways. Around her there were glass windows large and small (though she couldn't see through them) and she realized that she was in the market area. It seemed some of the store owners were beginning to prepare for the day. It also meant she was losing time to get this done sooner rather than later.

A small sigh sounded with the next puff of air. Then she paused, took a great intake of breath, slowly released it, stood taller, adjusted the weight on her back, and began to move forward. It was best to begin taking to the shadows. At a familiar alley-way she made a turn. Once on the other side she found what she was looking for and made her way towards it.

She could make out dark shapes leaning against a wall. Footsteps falling a little more quickly, the shapes began to form headstones and a coffin. There was nothing fancy or _pretty_ about the décor outside of this shop. There was even a skull above the sign that read "Undertaker". Although, the shape and sturdiness of the door reminded her vaguely of those at the entrance of a church- albeit this door had no color other than black.

Adjusting the weight on her back once more, she shifted to knock on the door with her foot. After waiting a moment there wasn't an answer so she knocked again. This time the door slipped open with a creak. She carefully pushed the door open further with her shoulder and stepped into the dark room lit with a handful of candles.

It was warm in there and she didn't realize how cold her body was until a shiver ran up her spine at the temperature difference. Her eyes adjusted to the low lighting and searched the room for any signs of life. She found coffins of all sizes lying and standing, thick cobwebs glistening in a few niches, shelves of tomes, books and skulls, and a few other knick-knacks that may be related to a mortician's profession.

Suddenly the heavy door slammed shut behind her and low chuckling was heard soon after, echoing throughout the room.

"My, my~! It seems I've ear~ly business today~!"

There was movement at her side and she turned to see long, dark nails and pale fingers peeking out of a standing coffin as the lid began to move. A wide grin greeted her soon enough, teeth gleaming in the low lights.

"Would you like to try one of my handmade coffins, my dear~?"

She didn't react immediately. It seemed that her breath stilled in her lungs for a moment. She had seen glimpses of this man before, had heard the rumors of his strange behavior…but she had searched for him for one reason.

A shuddering breath returned to her and she blinked twice. Her lips and mouth suddenly felt dry so she licked her lips and cleared her throat. His eyes were hidden but as she resolved herself, she stared straight at the spot she knew they would be. She shifted the weight on her back, a stiff package swaddled in stained sheets.

She had searched for him for one reason.

"I love her, so…. _can you help me bury her?_ "

She had heard that he was able to dress the dead quite beautifully.

A resounding laughter tore through the quiet London air, just as the first rays of light entered the sky.


	2. That Man, Most Curious

I forgot to mention that this story is a Slight!AU. It's still within the Kuroshitsuji universe but I don't plan to write everything according to Canon- that tends to make for tedious reading in a fanfic. I'm leaning toward basing this closer to the manga than the anime though. This story will probably not be very long either.

Yana-sensei is awesome. Much love to the creator of Undertaker!

* * *

There was no getting around it.

She had wandered all night searching for this shop, carrying a dead body on her back. For some reason, the mortician found it _hysterical_. He had laughed pretty heartily after she first spoke, then he invited her to sit for tea and bone-shaped biscuits. He didn't answer her question and instead asked her to recount the past night to him. He was apparently amused by what she had to say–evidence being his booming laughter that shook the building so harshly she was pretty sure she heard the sign outside fall from its place.

At present, he was draped over his desk, drooling and shivering in delight with his arms around himself and panting for breath. She didn't understand what the big joke was but decided to take small sips of tea from her beaker as she waited for him to calm himself.

"Haah~ Hee~hee~! I've seen paradise~! Hee~!"

She studied him as she waited. His wide grin and laughter seemed genuine. She'd never seen anyone smile so widely or laugh so boisterously before. She couldn't see his eyes though, so she wasn't sure if he was laughing at the way she worded something or because he was mocking her. His dark nails were ridiculously long and she wondered if he constantly had to clean dirt from them (or maybe something like blood, given his profession). Her own nails were kept short.

"Ah~ Well then, little lady," he swiped a finger under his bangs as if wiping a tear from his eye. "You've earned qui~te a bit for that laugh jus~t no~w!"

She set her beaker beside her on the coffin she was sitting on, fingers beginning to tap on her thighs. There really was no getting around it. Mortician or not, he was certainly unlike anyone she'd met before. How to proceed…

Well, she had heard a couple of ladies whispering behind their fans; something about their friend being made to look more beautiful at her funeral than she had been in life. Then something about how such work was unexpected from someone so eccentric. She was immediately curious and fascinated. ( _What high praise! To think there was someone with such a skill!_ …was what she thought at the time.)

"Mister Mortician, I've heard that you're the best at making a corpse beautiful!"

As she opened her mouth to say more she suddenly found said eccentric man's face closer to her own than what was socially acceptable of a stranger. Her next words died in her throat with a small squeak but she didn't move away. The man was all smiles and snickers as he tapped a long black nail on her nose.

"My~ what flattering lips~ Call me 'Un~der~taker', my dear."

"Ah…okay, _Undertaker_."

He giggled at her slightly awkward pronunciation and she next found a heavy hand on her head and her hair being ruffled between his long fingers.

"Mister Undertaker! That is…"

He began loudly humming an unfamiliar tune over her half-hearted protests as those fingers continued to comb through her hair. His nails lightly scraped over her scalp as he parted her hair this way and that. Most surprising to her was that he seemed to be able to maneuver through it without catching a tangle too painfully.

Was it because he was used to dealing with his own hair? Now that she thought about it, hair as long as his must be hard to maintain. It was a bit scruffy but looked well taken care of for the most part. He also had a braid in his hair. Did he make it himself? Would a barber know how to do such a thing? _Such nimble fingers…_

She didn't know it but her whole posture turned docile as she got lost in her thoughts. Her head turned to an angle better suited for him to work with and her eyes lowered into a relaxed gaze. She was quite easily getting swept away in his pace. She was either used to someone invading her personal space or she was dangerously easy-going for a young English lady. Though, the girl in question didn't look to fit the bill of the typical English Lady in the first place.

Just as he was finishing up, the girl suddenly flinched harshly and turned wide eyes to him.

"Mister Undertaker! While that feels really nice, please remember that I came here on business!"

"Hee-hee~! Aren't _yooou_ the one who for~got?"

The truth of that statement hit her with crushing force.

"Y-yes-but-!"

He seemed to ignore her sputtering as he brought a sleeved hand to his mouth in a poor attempt to contain his growing snickers, swiftly moving away from her all the while. Her eyes glanced to the bundle of stained sheets behind her and she sighed.

"You've heard me out, Mister Undertaker. Please give me an answer now."

Once again he began humming an unfamiliar tune with the occasional giggle, twirling about and slinking around the cluttered parlor. He moved a few things about-tools, maybe- and she was sure he was ignoring her existence. Next, his heavy hands were clamped down on her shoulders. She was unceremoniously yanked from her sitting spot and guided to the door.

"EH? What's-"

"Come again in two days~"

"What about payment? I haven't-"

The sunlight hurt her eyes more than she expected when he threw the door open.

"Fufufu~ I'll make her all~ pretty! Bye, bye now!"

She was thrown out and the door was slammed shut behind her. The street was busier now that it was about mid-morning but no one seemed to spare more than a startled glance her way at the loud noise. It took a moment for her process what had just happened. She took a great intake of breath, slowly released it, stood, straightened herself out, and began to head to her next destination.

Two days, he said.

Maybe he wanted to be paid after he was done? She would be sure to collect some money before then, in that case. Did he even say how much he charged? No, she was sure he never said a word about it. Well, she would know for sure in two days' time. Meanwhile, she had somewhere to be…

 _That Undertaker sure is strange._

* * *

 **EXTRA:**

Her employer and co-workers didn't seem to act out of the ordinary for the most part. In all honesty, they were all rather busy –her especially so since she arrived late. (She was glad her boss didn't scold her too harshly; instead, saying something like "Having your head in the clouds is one of your charm points, after all!" Maybe her boss assumed she was late because she got lost in thought and not because she actually had something to do? She didn't bother to try and clear the misunderstanding.)

It wasn't until the evening when she happened to catch a glimpse of her reflection in a window she passed that she sensed something amiss. When she looked, she realized that her hair was a mess. Not the usual kind of mess it was at the end of a long day either.

Atop her head sat two stacks of knotted hair, shaped to look like devil horns. _Knots._ Knots that would take _forever_ to _take out_. Didn't this mean that she spent the whole day with her hair like this? How did her hair even…?

 _-UNDERTAKER?!_


	3. That Girl, Memories

Thank you everyone who has commented, put this story on their favorites or watched list. I didn't expect this much notice so soon with only two chapters. At least that means people are enjoying this so far. Thanks again!

I ended up rewriting this one so it took longer to post. This might seem like a filler for now, but everything will eventually come around full circle. Enjoy this new chapter!

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

Just by looking at the condition of the body, he could tell that it was too late to try extracting her cinematic record. It would've been convenient if his _guest_ had been brought to him sooner, but it wasn't as though it was hard for him to find her record book anyway.

He wasn't too terribly busy; he had time to satisfy his curiosity a bit. He had seen many people distraught over the loss of a loved one. Some cried hysterically, some became bitter and angry in their grief, some lost themselves to depression, and some couldn't care less even if they were held at knife-point. Not a hint of any of that could be found in _that girl_.

 _"_ _I love her, so…can you help me bury her?"_

The firm resolve that resonated in her words wasn't something he heard very often, much less falling from the lips of a child. From the first moment she spoke to the moment he kicked her out, he sensed not a single lie or attempt at deceit from her.

Her declaration and request were bold, straight-forward, and honest. She handled him with a sense of polite curiosity. When she studied him it wasn't with malicious intent, disgust or even fear. When he touched her familiarly, she even welcomed him. She behaved that way even when she had carried a dead body on her back throughout the night to find him.

 _"_ _Mister Undertaker! While that feels really nice, please remember that I came here on business!"_

As someone who purposely agitated people for his own amusement, he was almost a bit disappointed at her lack of being unsettled by him. As it was, he was both amused by her and curious about her.

 _"_ _You've heard me out, Mister Undertaker. Please give me an answer now."_

Snickering to himself with a biscuit in his mouth, Undertaker made himself comfortable. He flipped open the book in his hand and began to read.

* * *

 _Her name was Marie Rosenworth, born June 16, 1802. She was born to a Lower-Middle Class family, the second born of-_

 _-her mother taught her how to read, write, and study arithmetic-_

 _-father's hands were thick and calloused, his back slightly hunched-_

 _-helped raise her siblings-_

 _-"All of you! Play outside_! _"_

 _"_ _You're a meanie! Meanie Marie! Meanie Marie!"-_

 _-later wailed their apologies-_

 _-mother died, her father followed a week after-_

 _-she struggled. She thought she was going to die. She wanted to die. Instead, her siblings began to-_

 _-They wanted to die. She wanted them to live. She wanted-_

 _-unfit for marriage. She was too old now-_

 _-struggled but she survived. She wasn't the best off but she knew she wasn't the worst-_

 _-said he loved her but she was tired. She didn't think she could love him the way he deserved-_

 _-"I can't! I just can't!"_

 _"_ _You_ can. _You're strong Marie. A very strong woman but-"_

 _-Life wasn't fair. Life was so cruel. But she had to-_

 _-took up teaching. Just like-_

 _-considered an old Spinster. All she had given to others her entire life, just to end up alone. Why-_

 _"_ _No! You mustn't think that way any longer Marie! Besides-"_

 _The times were changing. Bit by bit.-_

* * *

Undertaker read her story. The woman had a long story. Long for someone of her circumstances and the times she was born into. It wasn't until near the end that he found what he was really searching for.

* * *

 _-It wasn't unusual to find a child selling flowers in the busy streets of London._

 _"_ _Would'ja like a_ flower _?"_

 _What_ was _a bit unusual was this child's sincerely joyful grin. The accent weaved in those words had a hint of something foreign that she couldn't quite place at the moment. The child was dressed in a simple button-down, worn trousers that went just below the knee and scuffed shoes that looked rather big, like the rest of the attire._

 _The child waited patiently, grin never faltering, as Marie scrutinized her. Then, as if suddenly realizing something, the child blinked and reached into her basket. Marie watched as those small fingers gingerly dug to the bottom –an odd thing because they normally gave the 'best' looking flowers from the top- and withdrew a small daisy._

 _"_ _Got dis m'self. For you!"_

 _The child held out the small daisy to her but Marie couldn't help but be mesmerized by those eyes. They were bright eyes and that grin must've been infectious, for she found herself smiling as she took the offered flower._

 _"_ _Thank you."-_

 _-That child was a smart one. She was observant, almost unnervingly so, but there was never any malicious intent so Marie overlooked it. The girl noticed things because she was very curious.-_

 _-taught the girl to read, write, study arithmetic-_

 _-girl's hands were calloused, she walked with her head up and shoulders back-_

 _-reminded Marie of her time with her younger siblings. It was bittersweet-_

 _-"Don't you want to play outside?"_

 _"_ _I like staying with you, Granny."-_

 _-warmth in her chest-_

 _-sometimes pain in her chest. She wouldn't tell-_

 _-struggling again-_

 _-doesn't have much longer-_

 _-too old-_

 _-small hands held hers-_

 _-"I love you Granny Marie!"_

 _"_ _I love you too."-_

 _-Most of her life was spend struggling but at least now, in the end, she had a small comfort-_

 _-"Granny?"-_

 _Marie Rosenworth died early November 27, 18*4 of a heart attack. No further-_

* * *

After reading the last notes left by the Shinigami that reaped her, Undertaker shut the book. He stood from his spot, stretching as he did so, with a grin on his face.

"Eheheh~ Well now, let's get to work shaaaalll weee~!"


End file.
